Over the last past months, your mental health had taken a plunge into the abyss. And since throwing money at the problem had always worked until it hadn’t, Vladimir had the glorious idea of just throwing even more at it. From medication to the best psychologist he could find in the entire country, your husband seemed to pass up on no opportunity to spend money.

So here you were, forced to sit through the third therapy session this month. The ever-steady ticking of a clock on the wall punctuated the silence. One hour really felt like an eternity when being fixated by the expecting gaze of a therapist, as if that’d make you answer their pestering questions.

It was like a miracle when the torture was finally over and you were dismissed. Outside, Vladimir had already been waiting for you, leaning up against the side of his car, a cigarette between his lips as usual.